


run, run as fast as you can

by guibass



Series: Gingerbread Men [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, And the Gods Intervene, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Worldbuilding, frustrated gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guibass/pseuds/guibass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bow in her hand and a mark far into the countryside is what keeps Eri happy, well-fed and busy. Fighting alongside her shield-siblings is all that Nasima needs in life (that, and a hardy cup of ale). Kell just wants to study, take care of the college and do whatever he wants without stuck-up Jarls asking him for favours. He hadn't intended to free those people... He didn't even know they were there! </p><p>An adventure in accepting fate and kicking some Nordic butt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. going home

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try and fill in the little cracks and expand on parts of the world we were only briefly introduced to. That, and having three dragonborns sounded like a fun idea. Also, Sofie. Sofie was also a contributing factor too. 
> 
> I thank/blame i_mushi for getting me obsessed with worldbuilding. 
> 
> EDIT: 30 seconds after posting this I realized I had made a few mistakes. They're sort of taken care of. I probably missed a lot.

It isn't long before her bow is in her hands again, her movements poised in the dark, arrow strung and waiting to shot down her next victim. Her thumb brushes over the engravings on the bow near the grip, the vines creating an intricate patterns up and down the piece of wood. She recalls the supple ebony caving at the slightest touch of a knife. A trader had offered her a hefty sum for the bow, but she had spent to long carving it on the lonely road to part with it.

Taking aim at her target, she slowly released her breath, letting her arrow go at the same time. A dark line slices across the room, hitting the unsuspecting bandit. They fall, a throttle noise escaping the bandit's throat. It's the sound of death. The body falls onto the ground in a heap, the legs bending in ways that no living person could stand. Crouching low to the ground, she approaches the fallen body slowly, in hopes of not alerting another other living being that may be nearby. The loot off the body isn't much, a few low quality arrows and fewer coins. Eri retrieves her ebony arrow, which had gone straight through the bandit's neck and a few inches into the wall behind them. Using her foot, she straightened the bandits body and looked over the armour. She knocks on the iron a few times, wanting to test it's strength. It's good enough quality to gain her some more coin, but the last three bandits she had killed earlier were the same. Anymore armour, and she might topple over.

With a wistful expression, she looks over the fur boots on the dead bandit's body. Her shoe collection would just have to suffer.

\-- 

The inner sanctum of the dungeon is damp, musky and Eri doesn't really expect anything different. The little light that manages to make its way into the large, echoing chamber illuminates the dust and swinging cobwebs that litter the air. The path she needs is broken, crumbling rocks and fallen columns blocks her way to the wordwall ( _it calls to her, like all the others – vision weak and ears aching at the sound of her kin long past_ ). She's thankful for the cover that the shadows give her, as the draugr that is guarding the wall (and the subsequent chest she knows is there) does not wake. Crouching low and moving slowly, Eri sticks to the wall behind her, edging along until she gets a good, clear look at the draugr. It was hunched over and resting on its elbows, black ebony helmet giving off a shine in the candlelight. An ebony sword is at the draugr's belt, and the idea of having to face the creature freezes Eri for a second. She was never good at hand-to-hand combat or using any sort of blade. Her body has always ached for shadows and she prefers to sneak past opponents she couldn't take down with an arrow or two.

Grabbing her bow, she strings her first arrow and gets into position. It takes a few more arrows than the would have liked to get the bloody draugr down (the first two had missed – she wasn't expecting it to move so quickly). By the time the draugr is down for the count, it's a scant few feet away from her. It was a close call, and Eri grumbles the entire way to wordwall over her lost arrows. The draugr doesn't give her much in terms of loot, a few semi-precious gems and a small bottle of poison, but the sword (and the oh-so lovely enchantment it came with) should make up for the general lack of coin there is in this dungeon. She stares at the face of the draugr. It's wrinkled and the skin is translucent enough that she can see a few veins run its course along the hollow cheeks. The empty eye-sockets are what get to her, sending shivers down her spine and rising the hair on her arms (or maybe that's just the cold? These dungeons do get quite a draft). Deciding that she's had enough of this dungeon (she's spend a good day here and she's famished), Eri quickly grabs the valuables from the chest, learns her new word (oh hail Nocturnal, it's time to clear skies!), and searches for the secret door she knows will lead her out of here.

With an “Aha!” and the shifting of a cave wall, Eri finally gets out of the gods-forsaken dungeon.

\-- 

When she finally returns to Markarth, there isn't much to put away, having passed enough travelling caravans and traders on the road to sell her loot to. Stepping into the main living room of Vlindrel Hall, Eri notices that it's oddly quiet. Argis, her housecarl and close friend, has probably taken her daughter out to the market for the day. The little one has a sharp silver-tongue, one that lets her sweep unsuspecting merchants off their feet and lets her walk away from stalls with more items than her money bag would be able to purchase.

Eri leans against the nearest table and drops her bow (and the one small axe she carries) on the nearest surface. She had run into a courier some steps away from the gates. They had looked out of breath and slightly annoyed. Finding the courier in such a mood was expected, as searching for her whereabouts at any given moment was a chore (and half the time she doesn't even know where she is). But they handed her the messages she had missed anyways, happy to get the heavy stack out of the way.

Going through them now, Eri notices that there are a number of inheritance for her (and surprisingly enough, one for Sofie). From a few elderly country folk she had helped with some menial task to friend's she had made from when she had began her new life in Skyrim. Pocketing the gold and the one odd-looking staff, Eri tosses the read letters one by one into the fire. Near the end, one letter begins to stand out. It was of a finer quality paper than any of the others, the texture smooth and almost silk-like under her fingertips. There's an intricate design along the border, done in a purple, curving style. Falkreath, then. She never found it within herself to like the hold, while it was beautiful there was a hidden darkness about it that she could never get over.

Breaking the seal, Eri glances over the letter. “ _Eriana Lorthale... honour to be the Jarl... blah blah blah... fame of your exploits across Falkreath? ...Thane of Falkreath... land in Falkreath available for purchase..._ Thane of Falkreath?!” Siddgeir and Dengeir had both, on the few multiple visits to Falkreath, made it plainly aware that they were not welcome to... her kind at all. Dengeir is nothing but paranoid and Siddgeir had stuck his nose up at her, muttering about how her kind should have never stepped foot into Skyrim _._ She reads the letter a few more times to make sure that the offer is genuine. While she might not like having to deal with the Jarl, having her own house would be best. Having to quickly and quietly slip out (or in, for the matter) of Markarth after a successful murder isn't always the easiest. Also, the fresh country air would be good for Sofie and her fragile constitution.

Now having made up her mind, Eri switches into her city clothes (walking around town in full-armour usually leads to her being followed by a few guards) and equips her lesser hunting bow and a few steel arrows – if she runs into anything she hopes the destruction spells she has been learning will pay off.

It's mucky and horribly humid when she reaches the Markarth marketplace. It has obviously rained hours before her arrival, and she begins to notice the signs as she wades her way through the crowds. The stray dog soaking in a dirty puddle, the wet heads of the handlers. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasima Clene is as pathetic a Companion as can be. Can't swing an axe, and not the particular breed of fighter they usually accept. She shrugs. She'll deal with it later after this drink and maybe a dozen more after it. 
> 
> Traps are set, and all that's left is a horse and a map... maybe some mead for the road as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my docs for months. I wrote this and chapter one all in one sitting (minus food breaks) and now all I have are snippets of possible chapters. Please leave a comment or send me a message with suggestions and critiques.

\--- (NASIMA)

While the foods good, cheap and within walking distance of her home, Nasima doesn't like the hour wait it takes to get a salmon steak and a side of bread out of the kitchen and in front of her. Half the reason her patience is so thin is because she just returned from a job in Solitude, and the other half is because she really just loves this food. Yes, the fish melts in her mouth and the bread is always soft and warm, but the wait always leaves her to contend with the other patrons of The Bannered Mare.

 

There's Mikeal, the annoying and touchy bard (bastard, more like). His advances are as wanted as Rockjoint and his breath could possibly knock a Frost Troll unconscious. He casually slings his arms around her and she hits him every time, but it still doesn't get the message across. Uthgerd the 'Unbroken' is shifty, quite and there just  has  to be something wrong with someone that is rejected by the companions (she was accepted quickly and with loud fanfare at first). Sonia is nice enough, though she takes much too long to cook. Sinmir is loud and always complains to her about the state of Whiterun (she doesn't care all that much, but he keeps Mikeal away so she gives him an ear from time to time). Hulda is Hulda, she doesn't ask questions and only cares if you're staying the night or buying dinner.

 

Occasionally Athis or Ria accompany her, especially if the day has been rough. They drink mead together, since songs (her songs are half remembered melodies from hush lips in the dead of the night), and they  generally enjoy the atmosphere the cozy little inn provides. It might be the point of her ears or the colour of her skin, but everyone is still wary around her. Athis and Ria took an entire month of missions together to warm up to her, but the general distaste for her kind is still present in the eyes of everyone else. She never knew the isle her ancestors called home, or even what it was called in her mother tongue. She wants to live in Skyrim for all her life – from her first breath and, she hopes, until her last.

 

Hulda refills her cup as she passes by, and Nasima gulps it down. It's a strong and cold mint taste that lingers in her mouth, while the alcohol drops into her empty stomach. The inn is quiet, Mikeal for once occupied with cleaning his lute strings, Sinmir and Uthgerd talking in low whispers in the corner (most likely exchanging sword techniques or blocking methods) and that shifty cook is pacing around the open kitchen again.

 

Nasima thinks herself an unusual creature for her race – preferring thin swords and hand-to-hand combat to bows and spells. Orcish armour to Elven, and Jorrvaskr to the College. It's no wonder her mother has stopped replying to her letters, and why her cousin, Midula, has stopped visiting. She's not the norm, nor is she exceptionally specially in her field. In the early hours of the morning, when sweat is dripping down her face and the the dummy in front of her is in shreds, she contemplates why she does any of this. Her ancestors would find no honour in what she does, nor do others appreciate her for her choices and deeds. She's a disaster from the view of both sides and she knows it.

 

Sighing into her cup, she finishes her mead. Nasima has only been with the Companions for about a year now and when there isn't bandits to punish or civilians to save, Eorlund always has some swords that need sharpening or chest plates that need forging. The work keeps her tired and her body sore, but she always manages to get herself to the inn for dinner. It helps her forget what she's left behind and what the others whisper. While she's won Eorlund, Kodlak and some of the lesser members of the Companions over, it's the main members ('The Circle' she hears Athis whisper in the dead of night when the lights should be off and everyone should be in bed – he's such a gossip), that she needs to convince. The first night she had spent dinner at Jorrvaskr had been an awkward party of 1, with Skjor and Vilkas sending her glares from across the room, and Aela refusing to acknowledge her presence at the table (“Could you pass the sweet rolls?” “....” “Never mind, I wasn't into having dessert today either”). She gives up that night at trying to befriend, or at least stand, the Circle. She eats all her meals either in her room or at the Bannered Mare. It’s only lonely when she thinks about it. 

 

Nasima is awaken from her thoughts as Hulda drops her plate of fish in front of her. She mouth waters, her stomach growls and she reaches for the fork on the table. Finally, she thinks, food. She devours her plate quickly and with ferocity, but trying to do so with the delicacy her mother ingrained into her when she was young. She missed her last few meals while on the road, wanting to reach Whiterun as quickly as possible. Near the end of her meal, Nasima debates on ordering another plate, but she thinks not to it – if she gets hungry again, she's sure Tilma will sneak her a few sweet rolls or boiled cream tarts before bed.

In the hazy content of finally having food, Nasima doesn't notice the body that sits beside her at the bar. Their gruff voice breaks her from her content spirit.

“You didn't report in to Vilkas.” Nasima looks to the person beside her. While she's used to the presence of Farkas in Jorrvaskr, she's never been physically close to him. She didn't realize how large and menacing he was. He was almost taller than her, she muses.

 

“I was going to before I went to bed,” she takes a swig of her mead, “didn't know it was an important enough mission for Vilkas to send you looking for me.” Nasima shifts through her pocket, looking for her coin pouch. While she has never been close with Farkas like she is with Athis or Eorlund, she likes to think they have mutual respect for each other and would work fine together if given the chance. He seems like a sturdy partner, and Nasima wouldn't mind splitting the work more evenly if she knew her partner could handle it (not saying that Athis and Ria were  bad  partners, just that they tended to forget about the job once battle was initiated).

 

“He and Kodlak are waiting for you in Kodlak's quarters.” Farkas doesn't say much after this. Nasima nods absentmindedly and places the correct amount for the meal. Stuffing the last piece of bread in her mouth, she gets up from the bar stool and rearranges her clothes to rid of any breads crumbs or stray pieces of food. Farkas is ahead of her, waiting by the door. She wonders why she never heard or saw him move. She needs to learn that trick.

The walk back is silent, the only word said along the way are quiet goodnight's to other locals they pass, heading to their homes to hide away from the slight chill that has fallen on Whiterun.

 

Jorrvaskr is warm, Tilma having kept the fire going well after dinner. Nasima didn't realize how late she had come into town – dinner was well over and even Brill, the notorious night owl, was asleep (his snores could be detected even from the basement bunks if you listened for them). She nicks a small taffy treat as they make their way down to Kodlak's room. Hush tones are heard up until she reaches the Circle quarters. Farkas sends a nod her way before disappearing into his room. Brushing away anything she might have missed in the Bannered Mare, Nasima knocks lightly on Kodlak's door. The grunt she hears from the other side is what she hopes is a signal for her entrance, so she goes in.

 

The scene before is her nearly exactly what she remembers of her first meeting with the two. Kodlak with his unreadable face and Vilkas with his scowl, sitting at the corner table and obviously discussing something important. She's obviously interrupted something (again, a habit she's forming).

“Nasima, about time you arrived. We were beginning to worry about what had happened to you on the way from Solitude. I assume the citizen was saved?” Kodlak's voice is strong with a solid, merry tone. He reminds her of one of the grand-masters her mother would tell her in stories. The leader but the father, the nurturer and the executioner, but you could never hate him. 

 

Nasima nods and hands over the envelope of payments she received. Vilkas snatches it from her hands, and blatantly opens it up (Nasima assumes it's to check if any money has been stolen from it). She rolls her eyes at his antics, and she sees Kodlak give him a little huff. He returns her cut, a measly two hundred gold, and places the rest in the chest on Kodlak's table. Not paying Vilkas any more mind, Kodlak returns his attentions to Nasima.

 

“Good, good.” Kodlak stops, as if contemplating something. “I am aware of your recent return, but you have been requested for a special job in Falkreath. Sending you for such a task would not have been the decision of neither I or Vilkas, but your deeds across Skyrim must be spreading quickly, for rarely has a member of the Companions, who has been with us for such a short time, been singled-out for a job.” Nasima does not like where this is going. She the only other elf, of two, and the only female one in the Companions, the only notably fact that would get her noticed.

 

“You will need to leave by tomorrow morning to make it to Falkreath. There you will meet with Dengeir, the Jarl of Falkreath. He believes he has found the leader of the Dark Brotherhood. We do not usually set foot into the dealings of the likes of these groups, but Jarl Dengeir has expressed his wish for a neutral, third-party to arrest them and to bring them to justice. He does not know who has been bought over by this leader, so he has asked us.” 

 

“He has laid a trap for them along the southern shore of Lake Ilinalta. The specific details of this mission have not been revealed to me, for Jarl Dengeir has sealed this letter for you.” Kodlak hands her an intricately bordered letter, sealed with the seal of Falkreath in purple wax. “He wishes for the least amount of people to know of this until their capture is secure.” Nodding and accepting the letter, Nasima slowly makes her way out of Kodlak's room, hoping to be done with this, and that it will all make sense in the morning. Vilkas' is obviously not done with her though.

 

“Welp,” she pauses at the door. She loathes that nickname but Vilkas is at least equal in his distaste for the new recruits, so she takes it. “We are hesitant to send you on this quest. The Companions only wish to protect Skyrim's people and remain neutral in all political matters. But we see now that a time is coming where we must pick sides. The Dark Brotherhood has been a thorn in the side of Skyrim's people ever since its creation. I hope with this mission, and your eventual success, we can go on with as neutral a peace as we can.” Nasima, at loss for what to say, for what can she say to a mission like this, nods to Kodlak and Vilkas before leaving.

 

As she closes the door, the hush tones of Vilkas and Kodlak return. She faces the intricate carvings of the door, metal dragon's dancing along the borders and hinges of the door. Shaking her head, she turns to go to the bunkers.

 

The living quarters of Jorrvaskr are quiet and cold, the rugs not holding to the warmth as they should. When she reaches the bunks, she sees everyone is in deep sleep, the days toil apparent on their faces. The lone candle in the hallway flickers every now and then. She takes it from its spot and places it on her bedside table. She carefully breaks the seal of the letter, reading the contents and blinking a few times to make sure what she was reading was not the product of stress and lack of sleep. She sighs and cradles her head in her hands. The world has gotten more complicated while she wasn't looking. She'll deal with in the morning, she thinks. Right now all that is needed is sleep and a few hours to sort out her priorities.

 

She unhooks her travel pack and weapons, placing them in the correct spots: her trinkets in the top drawer, weapons under the bed, and the bones of dragon's she's killed are put in the false bottom in the back of the last drawer. She does not speak of the voice or the dragons or the way they falls so easily by her hands. The dragonborn is not something she wants to deal with – already has she brought enough shame to her family. If it is known she is the living, breathing, epitome of a Norse legend, they would surely die from shame. Not to mention the conflict it would stir if it was known that an Altmer, of all the races, was the chosen one to save the Nords and all of Tamriel.

She lays back on the furs and closes her eyes, falling into a dream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Erianna and Sofie. I swear, other POVs will be added shortly. Also, this chapter is short because I wanted to get at least something out there.

 

\---- (SOFIE)

Because of the nature of her job, Sofie knows that her mother can’t just pack her things and move to another hold. And where her mother goes, Sofie follows – and the people of Skyrim would be suspicious of an Elf with a Nord child. Actually, they're suspicious of Elves anyway, but she's sure tagging along with her mother will just cause problems. Suspicion leads to questions, which should be avoided at all cost. Not to mention the frequency of which her mother slips out in the middle of the night could cause worry to the new neighbours and guards. Lastly, Sofie thinks, is that she doesn’t believe that the merchants of Skyrim will fall for her obvious charm. Not only that, but who else will buy her sweets at the markets if Thorn isn't there? She's worked hard to get on his good side, moving away would put her back to square one. Skyrim is too hardened by the cold to care for simple girls with little money pouches and scary mothers.

But it never occurs to her that buying property (not apartment, house or blood-covered mansion) will solve all their problems. Her mother doesn’t have to worry about guards and walls and being away from her too often, and Sofie can finally see, in-full, the parts of Skyrim that she only glimpsed at when travelling from Windhelm to Markarth.

The crackling rivers and swaying trees, the spiders and bandits and skeletons (oh my!). She can finally start a garden of flowers, and maybe her own honey farm. Sophie grins at the idea of Argis teaching her how to ride a horse. Finally! Reasons to explore! Sophie thinks of the ancient burials and abandoned mines - oh, maybe not the burials, she’ll get Argis to clear them before she steps in one.

The bottom-line is that they’ll both benefit from the move, which is why she doesn’t understand why Argis, her beloved and thick-headed Nord, is against it. Yes, the house isn’t built yet, its located near a known burial site, and the travel there will be hard with all their furniture, but there’s just so many great reasons to move that it’s all worth it.

Their family dinner is quick but delicious - venison her mother had caught earlier in the day and some leafy greens she managed to get at the market. The sauce is Argis’ family secret and oh what a delicious secret it is (she’ll eventually weasel it out of him). Her mother and Argis talk late into the night, discussing the benefits (and hardships, Argis reminds her) of having the house in Falkreath. She listens as best as she can as she lays in her stone bed (another things she won't miss if they move). Eventually she falls asleep, and dreams of pet horses and blooming gardens and days spent riding away her time until she's old enough to join her mother on her adventures.

By morning, Sofie knows her mother has won (not that she ever doubted her) and she begins preparing for the move. Placing her dolls and herbal remedy books into a crate, and shifting her entire closet into another. Her mother leaves mid-day with an ample supply of iron, leather and food to start the house off with. Sofie has full confidence that her mother will make the most picturesque and practical house she’s ever seen.

If not, it’ll at least be the biggest bonfire Skyrim has ever witnessed.

  
  


\---- (ERI)

The sound of shaping metal is harsh, crass, and causes the inside of her head to fizzle in the most unpleasant ways. Eri decides that it is probably worst thing she has ever been exposed to. She hates it, hates it more than the chopping-block event and the whole left-for-dead-in-a-Nord-ruin-by-guild-leader incident but maybe not as much as the my-brotherhood-leader-committed-suicide event.

Iron is not a nice metal, hard to mine in large quantity in her current area, and just the feel of it raw in her hands is terrible and makes her shiver. Not to mention difficult to mold – it's brittle and rough and if she makes the nails just a little smaller or thinner than they should be they snap and she has to go out and make more because this stupid beam won't stand-up without it. She's paying someone the next time she has to build a house (though cutting down tree after tree after tree is very therapeutic).

The sky is painted in colors of the oncoming night when the worst happens – she's out of ingots. Having bought all the ones from the Riverwood smith already, the nearest place that would have an average supply would be Falkreath or the nearest mine (but she'd rather not have blood spilt during this endeavour). Sighing, she grabs the nearest hammer and flings it into the woods in muted anger. Flowing in a beautiful arc, it lands with a 'clunk' on the forest floor.

Falkreath it is, since Whiterun is a day's ride and the sun is already setting on the horizon. Maybell, her horse of questionable loyalty, munches on the grass near the hastily-made stables as Eri loads her with some provisions. Saddling-up and pulling Maybell into a slow trot, they head out on the road. She had hoped that she could get at least one room done and spend the night there, but honestly, she knew this would be a tough and long job. The faster it's done, the better.

  
  


\----- (ERI)

Besides of the dark gloom that surrounds the town, Eri does like Falkreath. It's close to the brotherhood, it's not as cold as it is in Solitude or Whiterun, and the people keep to themselves (if there's a murder every time she's in town, they make no comment). What she doesn't like are the nobles and their petty power trips. It seems like every time she comes by, Siddgeir wants to see her to make thinly-veiled harsh comments on her heritage, or a lesser noble needs some miscellaneous job done like she's their servant, and she wants no part in dealings with nobles.

Riding her horse through the front gates, the guards nod in her direction. What she needs are those horrible iron ingots, a meal, and some rest. Then, she decides, she'll head back to that pile of nails and lumber on her new land and try again.

Finding Lod is no problem. He seems happy to see her, one of the few, but that might be because she helped find his dog for him (he actually turned out to be the companion to a Daedra, but she has yet to tell him). It's the small tasks, she finds, that warm the people of Skyrim. She places all the ingots in the side pouch of Maybell's saddle. The horse is of a strong and sturdy breed, she can take the heavy load. A few of the children playing on the street disappear quickly as she makes her way to the Dead Man's Drink, the last bits of sunlight filtering through the ferns and aged oaks that surround the town. Maybell drags Eri to the stables by tugging at the reins in Eri’s hand, eager for treats and some rest. She unsaddles Maybell, then checks her hooves. Bed of hay and some fresh water greet the two in the spare stall. Once all is in order, Eri makes her way into the Inn. It's quiet, fire roaring, and the muffled and low muttering of Narri fighting with Delacourt is the only other ambiances she hears. Valga, the owner, is busy wiping away at the counter, glaring at the two. Sending a glance to the fighting pair, Eri sits herself down at the nearest table, Valga by her side in a second.

“Some beef. If you have some Honningbrew on you, that'll do as well.”

“Just ran out. Regulars will do?”

Eri fights a tired sigh from escaping her lips. All she wants to do is drown her frustration at building the house in some good quality ale, but apparently Mephala wasn't letting that happen.

 

“That’s fine. Any rooms available?” A startled laugh escapes Valga’s mouth. She gestures around the bare inn.

  
“Busiest time of the year.” Eri smiles and hands her the required amount of gold. 


End file.
